


Skyrim: The Unlikeliest of Things

by Mizunit



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, bethesda - Fandom
Genre: Companions Questline (Elder Scrolls), F/M, Khajiit (Elder Scrolls), One Shot Collection, Slow Burn, idkisit?feelslikeitis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizunit/pseuds/Mizunit
Summary: One is a cryptic, deceitful Khajiit whose intentions and words always seem to be self-serving in nature.The other is a large, simple-minded, brute of a Nord who would rather punch his way out of problems than use his words.Surely there's nothing more to them than meets the eye, right?
Relationships: Farkas (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s), Farkas (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Skyrim: The Unlikeliest of Things

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a novice writer, so criticism is greatly appreciated! :)

She was no thief.

Yes, she (along with the entire realm of Skyrim) is aware that the majority of thieves, assassins, bandits and all other unsavory types that were currently wreaking havoc in the countryside just so happened to be Khajiit, which _she_ just so happens to be. But she was no thief.

And yes, most thieves were better known for their uses of bows, poisons and daggers, and their appeal to use the nightly shadows in order for them to remain unseen to the untrained eye. But she was no thief- she was certain of it because, as it turns out, she only used most of those things, not all. She was never really all that good with daggers to begin with.

But above all, she thought to herself, she was not a thief because she refused to steal. That was just an _awful_ crime, an _absolute_ degeneracy, and it was beneath her. No, she preferred to do the morally grey version of that, which was to snoop. Maybe even borrow. Much different.

So, when Skjor had begrudgingly told her that her long-awaited leather equipment was in Farkas' room and that she needed to wait for him to unlock the door, she had no qualms about picking the lock instead and letting herself in as if she was walking right into her own home. She would just take what was rightfully hers and leave quickly- that seemed to be more convenient for everyone involved. Nobody had to know. As for the rock head, he probably wouldn't have even remembered the stuff was in there to begin with, so it's not like he would notice if it was suddenly missing.

When she realized that her equipment wasn't there, (curse that bald-headed, angry old coot) instead of cutting her loses, locking the door behind her and returning at a later time, she allowed curiosity to get the best of her, and she began to scan the rest of the room meticulously. Oh, Khajiits and their curiosity...

Denyw really wasn't sure what to expect from his humble abode, but everything in that damn room just made _sense_ , at least to her: it was awfully simple, yet still managed to be sufficiently cluttered with enough garbage to leave her feeling a bit claustrophobic. Half of the room was just a mini bar, as if the long table a floor above them didn't have enough mead, and then the other half of the room was littered with empty mead bottles and half drunk tankards. Lovely.

It was dark, it was damp and rank with the smell of sweat, mead, dried blood and...

And...

It had a distinct wet dog smell that had almost made her gag when she had first opened the door, and it was especially pungent near his bed. Although she had not seen a single canine during the first few times she had visited Jorrvaskr, Denyw made a mental note to herself to ask the other Companions if the members would tend to have dog companions and if it was ok if she would pass on that generous offer.

There was no tug at her guilty conscious as she made a mental note of the possible places where a dumb ol' brute would stash his septims, or a valuable gem or two. That was just her being aware of her surroundings. Having said that, the young Khajiit sat down in the warrior's rancid bed without feeling a pang of guilt at all and eyed what little material possessions he owned other than alcohol that may or may not actually have some worth to them- just to look, of course. Because thieves take after all, not look, and by the Nine, she was no thief.

And it was then when she saw it, right from the corner of her eye- a small lute, resting against a pair of barrels in the back of the bedroom, seemingly forgotten by its owner. She looked at it curiously for a moment before she could feel a smile slightly tug at the edge of her lips. The mental image of Farkas holding the tiny lute in his hands, his behemoth fingers clumsily strumming the instrument crossed her mind and she couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. It just seemed so unlikely for him of all people to play such a delicate instrument. This was a man that could probably defeat a bear with just a longsword and his brute strength alone, and the simple thought of him being able to pick this small wooden toy without breaking it in half was dumbfounding to her.

It would have made more sense if it were literally anyone else from the Companions that played. Torvar, the drunken fool of a man, would occasionally play his own lute when he was in one of his moods. The small and fragile looking Athis or Ria would be better off playing away as well. Hell, even his brother, Vilkas, seemed to have been a better contender, but Farkas?

Denyw got up from the dog bed and walked towards the lute. As she crouched down to inspect it closer, it came to her that in her relatively short but eventful life, she had never actually been able to touch one of these before, or even look at one so closely. Most taverns wouldn't allow for Khajiits to enter, so she wasn't all that familiar with bards to begin with. Even the few rouge bards traversing the roads of Skyrim wouldn't play for her, even when offered gold- they'd rather hide away their belongings from her, lest she ends up robbing them. Of course. _And she wasn't even a thief._

With that memory fresh in her mind, she blinked away any sort of pesky dust that had accumulated near her eyes, bent down towards the lute and poked it over and over again in a manic state of pure childish spite, before finally resting her hand on the strings and strumming it carelessly.

And yet...

She couldn't help having the fur at the back of her neck rise up as her thin fingers trailed the silver strings of the instrument. She marveled at its delicate golden sheen against red, at the intricate curves and swoops of its design. She wondered- The Nine know she could not help but wonder- how much an instrument like this would sell for.

She was no thief. Thieves steal things and all she was doing was looking.

And touching. She could still technically touch it and that would not make her a thief.

With one last look over her shoulder and an inability to explain why she had grown so nervous all of a sudden, the small Khajiit reached out her hand and slowly plucked the instrument from the floor, holding it by its neck and allowed the feeling to wash over her. It felt... odd having her fingers wrapped around the wooden frame. It was too bulky- or perhaps too stiff.

She held it far away from her body, and carefully plucked a string with a finger, imagining a single, enigmatic arrow catapulted by the very sound itself and lodging itself into the wall. To her great disappointment but not surprise, it felt nothing like holding a bow.

She plucked another. Then another. Slowly, timidly, she brought it close to her body and strummed it once. Twice. Closing her eyes, she felt another shiver pass through her body at the melodious sound that erupted from her own fingertips.

 _How different would my life had been if I had become a bard?_ she wondered, now strumming the same chord continuously. If only she had had one of these when she was younger- if only she would have been able to learn.

She wondered how it was possible that her wrathful fingers were capable of creating any sort of sweet, melodious sound. And for some infuriating, inexplicable reason, her thoughts traveled back to Farkas, and his big bear hands slowly, gently, touching those same strings and making them dance, the scars that no doubt littered his palms unable to deter him from creating music.

"What are you doing?"

The sudden sound of Farkas' grave voice was enough for her to jump right out of her skin. She whipped her body in the direction of the door, where Farkas looked on expectantly. He was holding a full set of leather armor in his hands, but he somehow managed to make the entire set of equipment look minuscule in his arms.

"What are you doing?" he repeated when Denyw gave no immediate answer. His eyes trailed her arm and squinted as they landed on her right hand.

"That's my lute," he said, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion.

The Khajiit stared at him with dinner plates for eyes for a few seconds before she smiled sweetly at him and lowered the lute back into its place. Arching her back as straight as she could, she stared intently at him, smile unwavering. "Ah, Farkas," she said sweetly, clasping her hands together in front of her, "I was waiting for you. You know, you're a lot quieter than I expected."

He simply stared at her with a blank expression, knocking the Khajiit down from her momentary surge of confidence. Her smile twitched downward slightly.

Farkas' blue eyes darted from the lute to her face for a few seconds before he eventually settled on the latter. The uncomfortable silence left hanging in the air was almost tangible. She couldn't help but shudder under his icy stare. Gods, did she loathe having conversations with this man, if you could even call them that.

Finally, he grunted and slowly walked towards his bed, dumping the contents in his arms above his sheets. He turned to her and plainly said, "You're in my room."

"I'm quite aware of that, Farkas," said Denyw, barely containing herself from rolling her eyes at his astute observation skills. "Skjor told me to come down here to get my armor. I'm just being a good little whelp and doing as I'm told."

"He told you to touch my stuff, too?" he said, in the same emotionless, soulless way that he talks that infuriated Denyw to no end. He was impossible to read- his words suggested that he was angry, but his tone and his face just gave her... nothing. She hated not being able to read him, hated that she couldn't figure out the right way to respond to him. He gave her nothing. Trying to understand this rock head was about as possible as understanding the emotions of an actual damn rock.

As always, however, she gave it her best shot: her smile became sickly innocent as she pouted in his direction. "It's not like I broke anything, did I?" she said. "Besides, I was only snooping cause I was trying to find what was rightfully mine. But it wasn't here, obviously. Turns out you were lugging it around with you."

"I always lock the door when I'm out," he said, barely acknowledging her previous comment.

At the mention of the locked door, Denyw suddenly garnered an unprecedented interest at the discoloration of her cuticles. "You must have forgotten this one time," she said absentmindedly. She stared intensely at her nails, even as she felt Farkas' own stare directly targeted at her.

As the sudden thump of Farkas' boots drew near, however, Denyw could feel her tail puff up in alarm. Her whole body tensing up in response as she felt the hulking man stagger towards her. So, what, he was just going to pound the crap out of her for insubordination? Yank the fur right out of her skin? Grab her, yell at her, call her a dirty little thief, even though she clearly had not stolen anything, she didn't steal anything, she-

No. Instead of berating her, he walked right past her rigid form, not even glancing at her direction, and stopped in front of the lute. He picked it up and inspected it carefully.

After letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding and before he could turn towards her again, Denyw hurriedly marched directly towards the bed and began to pick up her armor, piece by piece. By that time she had it all up in her arms, it looked as if the whole thing was going to topple right on top of her any second.

She could barely get a foot outside before Farkas' deep voice resonated in the room, slow and steady.

"Denyw."

She turned around, not only startled to know that he had more to say to her, but that for the first time in a while, someone had called her by her name instead of "whelp". Cautiously optimistic, she asked, "Yes?"

Farkas turned around to face her and in his hands was the lute. He held it gingerly, almost as if he were holding a child.

"It's not a toy," he scolded, albeit while staring down at his instrument.

Denyw swallowed hard. "Right."

"It's not a bow, neither."

"Right."

"Treat it nicely next time."

Denyw didn't give him the chance to watch her ears drop in embarrassment as she marched out from view.


End file.
